what makes you hot?
woooo doggies. went to the jump little children show tonight...was pleasantly surprised. i knew their stuff was pretty good, happy and loud and all, but i didn't realize the scope those boys have. they came out for an encore after a very successful set, turned their mics off, and played a beautiful acoustic ditty for the audience. followed by a rousing cover of enter sandman. obvious rockitude. but, as always, it was interesting to observe people that seem to exude sex. this guy came out in very tight rolled up jeans over docs, a tight little shirt with some kind of denim jacket, and a leather paperboy hat. i had found it odd that the entire front of the venue was mobbed with teenage girls, then paperboy man did his little hip thrust, and it all made sense. the guy made love to a hot pink mandolin, a harmonica, a penny whistle, and most importantly, an accordian, all onstage. i mean, there were serious "o" faces going on. a couple of times i thought i felt stef's drool on my shoulder. and it wasn't just his little mannerisms or even the fact that he sang a song called "body parts are nice"... see the band was supplementing with this unmistakable porn music. stef said this guy "doesn't exude sex, he is sex." but i beg to differ. he's porn. those kind of guys that make a science of being sexy...you look at them making out with the microphone and stroking the stand in that totally prissy, exaggerated way, and you know they stand in front of the mirror and practice that little dance and the rolling the eyes back in the head. i suppose the correct reaction would be to be totally turned on...i just couldn't stop laughing. but it's still so easy to get sucked into the voyeurism of seeing someone play onstage. acting like you're seeing this part of them that no one else does, that it means something to them, that they don't really feel your eyes on them and respond accordingly. god, they were all doing the faces. and it sounds great, and you're in that zone, and you want to think it's just them being in the zone too, then one of them looks at you from the corner of his eye. pity. like those guys that want to videotape themselves having sex and put mirrors over the bed. i guess i put camus up here to remind myself of what i judge to be sex incarnate, and not porn. don't get me wrong, the show was great, they were great musicians, and lord knows i don't have a problem with musicians. but people should never know that they're sex symbols. the idea of being "turned on" by something is just so inexplicable, so personal, we should just let our objects of lust be quietly beguiling. and yes...we've elevated camus man to these mythic proportions, but he doesn't know about it. we simply band together to enjoy a beautiful concept that is elusive, if not impossible. to separate the passion from the porn. i dunno. sure i can simplify all this into a fairly neatly wrapped theory, but man, i'm going to explode one of these days and it won't be pretty. i'm not sure i even know what i mean by that.